


I Pester Because I Care

by ajeepandleather



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, M/M, Writer!John, anemia, vampire!Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-14
Updated: 2017-07-14
Packaged: 2018-12-02 05:41:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11502921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ajeepandleather/pseuds/ajeepandleather
Summary: John's lives a quiet life, keeps to himself. That is until a vampire named Sherlock decides to insert himself into his life because having "anemia isn't healthy, John."





	I Pester Because I Care

**Author's Note:**

  * For [well_why_not](https://archiveofourown.org/users/well_why_not/gifts).



> First Johnlock fic, woot woot!! Hope you enjoy it :)

  It had been a long day for John. He had spent the entire night before finishing his reports for the Carlyle family and their taxes. It was long and tedious work, helping the family budget and find the right kinds of accounts to start and plan for their retirement. Lots of numbers and not enough words. That’s what John really wanted to do,  _ write. _ He wanted to twist and bend the English language to his whim and fancy until it told the story he wanted to tell. So, he had wasted away twelve hours yesterday finishing his reports so he could spend today doing what he truly enjoyed.

  Sadly, words never seemed to come when he called. Of course he had managed to find an empty table at his favorite coffee shop, had set up his laptop, spread out his papers, ordered and picked up a warm drink, and … nothing. He sat and stared at the ominously blinking cursor on his screen and waited. For what, you may ask? For inspiration. An idea. A dream that may have struck his fancy. The heavenly muses of ancient times to descend upon him. To be hit with it like lightning. He squeezed his eyes shut and willed the words to come to him and … nothing.

  He had spent his entire day there. Sitting at the little table for two in the corner of his favorite coffee shop. Waiting in vain for inspiration to strike now that he finally had the time to write it all down and maybe, one day, show the world his creation. He would have answer interviews with “yes, it came to me while I sipped some chai tea in this little hole in the wall place with a porcelain cockerel sitting on a shelf to be displayed”. He would laugh while recounting the  quirky place and talk about how his writing process involved the dim chatter of fellow patrons and the perfect view of one of the few parks in a concrete jungle.

  But, that dream would have to wait another long week of him writing reports while the hints of the most beautifully developed characters and a clever plot flitted through his brain, teasing him with what he was capable of when the timing was all wrong.

  He left the coffee shop, waving good-bye to Susan who manned the register after 7pm and shrugged his messenger bag with his laptop higher onto his shoulder. Another day wasted and now it was best to go home, set the dream aside and transition back into his day-to-day life. Yeah, as if.

  “Excuse me, I would like to ask of some assistance.” John startles at the voice that seemed to weave its way through the shadows. The voice is attached to a body that seems to condense from the shadows and solidify before John’s eyes.

  The man is tall and slender, with a shoulder to waist ratio John could only wish to describe just perfectly in a novel. His skin was a creamy pale that stood in stark contrast to a mop of dark curls on his head and even bigger contrast to the icy blues were held just above lethally sharp cheekbones. He was ethereal and vaguely intimidating.   

  “What?” John found himself stopping in front of the man, intrigued if wary.

  “I asked for some assistance. Would you mind?” The man gestured to a side street that John had taken before as a shortcut to and from his accounting office.

  “Oh, well, of course. What do you need?” The man was already walking down the alley before John had finished. A little off put but still willing to help, he followed.

  “You see, I’ve been caught in a predicament and you seemed the most capable of helping.” The man answered his earlier question vaguely.

  “How so?” They made another turn, into an even smaller alley, darker and John felt the hair on the back of his neck rise. The man looked at him over his shoulder, captivating him with his piercing gaze.

  “Well, you see,” The man came to a stop at a seemingly random point in the alley, cloaked mostly in shadows, only the faint light of distant street lamps to keep anything visible, but just barely. “I like my meals to look nice, and nobody I’ve seen so far has been quite pretty enough.” The man tells him, telling John like that was a normal response and it made perfect sense.

  “I don’t believe I understand.” John feels something itch at the back of his mind, an instinct, a warning. It screamed there was something wrong, but surely it was fine? The man’s eyes twinkled, bad guys eyes never twinkled in novels.

  “I’m hungry, John Watson, and you are a lovely looking meal.” Before he can utter another word, let alone voice a full question, the stunning man lunges at him. He grips John by the shoulders in a grip far too strong to be human, let alone come from such slender and delicate looking fingers and hands. The mop of curls tickles at his nose as the man takes deep lungfuls of air from John’s throat and John? He’s paralyzed. Struck with shock and unsure of how to continue. Should he push him away? Run from the man who is clearly disturbed in the mind. But he doesn’t get the chance to choose, because that’s when he feels the sharp sting that is unmistakably teeth sheathing themselves in skin and his mind goes blank.

  The first tug on his vein is unpleasant and hurts a fair amount, but after that the pain dulls to a soft ache. He feels his head drop back without his permission while blood if forcefully taken from its path to his brain. He’s falling into a place of pleasure pain when suddenly it’s all ripped away. He stumbles back slamming against a wall, grappling at it as he tries to find purchase and not land on his arse. The ma-  _ vampire  _ steps back, face twisted in disgust.

  “What in the hell is that running through your veins?” He spits the words, then literally spits to the side, wiping at his mouth with the end of his sleeve. John blinks at him and then shakes his head to clear it.

  “What in the hell are you?” John asks, still light headed from the blood loss.

  “A vampire, John, I really expected more from you.” The vampire sighs in disappointment.

  “You were drinking my blood?” His voice rises in a mix of fear and continued shock.

  “Yes, if you could call it that. You taste absolutely  _ vile _ .” The vampire huffs, like John had somehow personally offended  _ him,  _ not like he had just tried to steal John’s life essence. “Why is your blood so … thin?” His nose scrunching.

  “It’s called anemia, you bastard, a condition that leaves the affected with less red blood cells.” John raises himself carefully to his feet before being hit by a sudden wave of dizziness. “Well, this was horrible, and thank you for taking blood from someone  _ already lacking it.  _ Please, feel free to leave me the hell alone.” He snarks unhappily, trying to regain his bearing to storm away and go home. Maybe if he goes to bed quick enough he can pretend this was all just a bad dream. Maybe he could use this as a story idea … no, no, no, first things first, trying to make it a dream. Priorities, John.

  “Are there not ways to  _ fix  _ that?” The vampire questions, following John as he stumbles out of the alley, trying to remember if it was a left or a right turn. 

  “Yes, I need to take iron supplements and drink more orange juice, eat spinach. Plenty of things I can do.” John waves his hand around behind him as if to deter his follower.

  “So, why don’t you? This can’t be healthy.” 

  “Well, I don’t care.”

  “You should. Low red blood cell count can be attributed to to fatigue and dizzy spells.”

  “I still don’t care.”

  “It’s probably putting your heart at a disadvantage as well.”

  “Am I caring yet? No.” They continue like that for a few more blocks while John makes his way home, hoping to lose his concerned vampire somewhere along the way.

  “You should take supplements, John.” That was it, this was ending. Now. John turned on his heel and leaned into the vampire’s space.

  “No, I will not take the supplements, because all you want is a meal and I refuse to appease you so just leave me alone! And how do you know my name!” John yells, not caring about the scene he’s causing on the London street at nearly 8 o’clock at night.

  “Well, I always stake out a meal, half the fun is figuring them out. And John I must warn you, raising your blood pressure so quickly may result in dizziness and fai…” But John doesn’t hear it because he’s already blacking out.

 

***

 

  John came back to the world of the conscious slowly. Taking in his bed covers and the familiar surroundings of his room in the tiny flat he called home. He rolled over while he thought back to the night before. That was one  _ wild  _ dream … maybe he should write it down. But of course, that’s when he heard the crash in the kitchen. With trepidation, John threw back the covers, finding himself in flannel pajama pants and a loose sweater, and then made his way to the kitchen.

  He stood for a moment in silent shock, watching as the man from last night rummaged through his cabinets in search of God knows what.

  “Bloody hell.” He sighs, defeated. No use in screaming and yelling about all the crazy events of last night. It was over and done with, no use in fighting it. 

  “Where do you keep your tea? I made toast.” He pointed over his shoulder to where the toaster where two burnt pieces of toast resided, from where he had his head in a cabinet.

  “To the right and up one.” John told him, yawning as he went to throw out the burnt wastes and make some more toast. “I’ll assume you knew where I lived because you stalked me?” He asks casually.

  “I prefer  _ observed,  _ but to each his own.” 

  “Dressing someone in their sleep is invasive and creepy.” John pulled butter and jam from the fridge while waiting for the toast to pop.

  “But sleeping in khakis is horrifically uncomfortable, it would have been miserable sleep for you.” The vampire sets the kettle on a flame and then starts his search for mugs.

  “I would like to have your name, calling you  _ the vampire  _ in my head is getting repetitive.” He pulled the mugs down from another cabinet, smacking the man’s hand when he goes to grab John’s favorite of the two.

  “Sherlock Holmes.” The vampire holds out his hand for a shake just as the toast pops, so John ignores him in favor of breakfast. “You’re taking this quite well, considering.”

  “Considering you tried to feed off of me last night and then insulted me for my lack of red blood cells?” John replies shortly.

  “Well, yes.”

  “Show me your teeth.” Sherlock takes a moment to look affronted before taking in John’s look of 110% done and rolls his eyes. He opens his mouth so his teeth are highlighted by the dark back drop of his throat before letting his fangs descend, revealing lethal edges.

  “Do you approve?” Sherlock sighs, rolling his eyes as he follows John into his living room to sit on the couch.

  “A little underwhelming compared to the stories, but at least you’re not some weird fever dream.” John shrugs. 

  “Excuse me?”John wants to laugh at how truly offended Sherlock looks, deciding to bask in it before explaining.

  “Well, novels say you would have hypnotizing eyes of beautiful color and strong beyond that of a normal man and agility like a cat. You seem a little underwhelming to me.”

  “I’ll have you know, I am all those things and more.” Sherlock huffs, crossing his arms looking like he’s seconds from pouting.

  “Cat like reflexes? I’d like to see.” From his end of the couch, John throws the knife he used to spread butter and jam at Sherlock. The vampire moves his head just slightly to the side to avoid being hit, letting the knife whiz past him and clattered against the opposite wall. “Oh, come on, you couldn’t have caught that!” John basically whines, disappointed by Sherlock’s lack of reaction.

  “I’m not a puppy to perform tricks, John.” 

  “Well then, what good are you to me?” He takes an angry bite of toast, realizing he’s going to have to pick up the knife soon.

  “I brought you home after you blacked out.” Sherlock offers.

  “You cause my blood pressure to spike!” John cried indignantly.

  “That is true, yes.” Sherlock puts a finger to his chin in a display of deep thought. “I could help you with your anemia!” He says, smiling as he leans toward John, who as a result leans back. “Yes, I shall help bring you back to full health in no time.” He says with conviction.

  “What if I don’t want help?” John asks with a smile, waiting to see how Sherlock will work himself out of this one.

  “There are ways of me getting what I want.” Sherlock tells him in a deep voice and with a gaze that reminds John of last night’s fiasco, before it all went to hell.

  “Ah, ah, ah, that’s not going to work.” John smiles, pushing Sherlock’s chest where it had come closer than John was comfortable with. It was firm and he didn’t back off immediately, making John’s cheeks feel a little too warm.

  “Why ever not?” Sherlock asked, resuming his spot on the other end of the couch, obviously unimpressed by John’s statement.

  “See, now I know that you’re going to try and mind trick me, so I’ll know to resist it and the idea of what you’re trying to get me to do. It just won’t work.” John smiled triumphantly, picking up his plate and then his fallen knife on his way back to the kitchen, putting the dishes in the sink.

  “Well, I’ll do something and you’ll be healthy. I’ll be useful.” Sherlock assured him, making John jump a bit when he didn’t hear the man follow up behind him.

  “Good luck with that.” He scoffs, rinsing off the leftover jam.

  “Thank you, John, I appreciate your support.” Sherlock smiles.

  “That was sarcasm, Sherlock, sarcasm.”

  “What a absolutely useless form of communication.”

 

***

 

  “I bought you some vitamins.” John couldn’t help the screech of fear he let loose when the shadows behind his bedroom door condensed into all all too familiar figure.

  “I changed the locks!” He pushed past his unwelcome house guest, throwing his jacket onto the coat rack by the door. He didn’t even comment on how Sherlock fixed it so it hung level or how he had gone around and fixed the arrangement of the books on John’s shelves so they were alphabetical. It was an invasion of privacy but you know, so was attempting to suck someone’s blood and breaking into their homes, so John picked his battles.

  “They have extra iron in them -”

  “Do you know how expensive it is to change locks?” 

  “- and the internet says you need more vitamin C and D so I bought some orange -”

  “And I’ll have have to explain it to my landlord. Again.”

  “- juice, would you like some now?”

  “Do you even use the doors?”

  “Of course not, John, I can apparate. You should have deduced this by now. So, orange juice?”

  “Does this mean I can find like warding spells or something? Maybe a hex bag or runes?”

  “This isn’t Supernatural, John. I put a glass in the freezer about ten minutes ago, it should be frothy by now.” Sherlock went in the ways of the kitchen, pulling a glass (that was indeed frothy) from the freezer.

  “Well, how am I supposed to get rid of you?” John accepted the glass and took a sip.

  “You don’t really. Now, I was thinking a doctor’s appointment would be a good next step,” John looks down at the glass in his hand, staring at it bewildered. It was nearly seven at night, why in God’s name was he drinking juice? “but I’m not sure when you will be out of the awful office of yours, so how does sometime next week sound?” In lieu of a response, John pours the rest of the juice down the kitchen sink’s drain while staring Sherlock down.

  “I’m not going to the doctor.” He places the glass on the counter, returning to the couch and flipping on the TV.

  “But this is a serious medical condition, John, it affects your daily life.” Sherlock appears next to him, taking the remote and flipping to the history channel.

  “I’m fine, I’ve lived perfectly normal for plenty long.” He steals the remote back and flips back to his sit-com. “I’m not going to a doctor.”

  “Well, do you not experience easy fatigue? I’m sure that puts a damper on your day, feeling exhausted all the time?”

  “You know what makes me exhausted? Nosey vampires who break into my house.”

  “And your heart rate must skyrocket climbing the stairs just to get up here. I could probably hear you for miles with how hard it was pumping.”

  “Then turn your creeper ears off. Plenty of people have fast heart rate after exercise.”

  “What about your skin? Look at the pallor, you could use a good tan.”

  “Says the vampire.”

  “And don’t you get dizzy? That can be dangerous, Jo -”

  “Do you know what’s dangerous, Sherlock?” John snaps, finally looking at the man next to him.

  “Plenty of things. Showers, guns, motorcycles -”

  “Pissing off an army veteran is dangerous, Sherlock, and you seem very keen on doing so.” John glares while Sherlock opens his mouth just the snap it shut.

  “I’m only trying to help.” The vampire huffs, folding his hands in his lap.

  “You just want a tasty meal.” John growls, “I’m going to bed. If you follow me, I will shoot you with the handgun I keep near the bed. Repeatedly.” He storms off, slamming his bedroom door when he gets there.

 

***

 

   The following week is rough for the men as they stand at odds. Even when John tries to take refuge in staying at his office, Sherlock finds a way to get to him.

  “Mr. Watson?”

  “Yes, Sherry?” He looks up from his computer to see a rather dazed looking secretary holding a small, thin cardboard box.

  “I very lovely man came in and asked that you received this and that you be reminded to take your vitamins.” The woman’s voice goes soft at the mention of who is undoubtedly Sherlock. John can  _ feel  _ his veins constrict as his blood pressure rises. But to avoid another black-out he takes deeps breathes.

  “Thank you, Sherry.” He tells her, carefully taking the box from her hands and placing a gentle hand on her upper arm. “Now, why don’t you go sit with a glass of water, hmm? Take a little break maybe?”

  “Yes, my head is feeling a little strange.” She acquiesces easily, drifting off to the breakroom to do as requested. With a scowl, John sits and opens the box and finds and homemade lunch of a tuna sandwich with melted cheese and a boiled egg on the side and a thermos that is no doubt orange juice. On the bottom of it all, John finds a note scrawled onto a post-it note.

_ I researched foods high in iron and hope you like fish. We’re having cod for dinner. Have a good day at work. _

And it was signed Sherlock. He told himself he wasn’t giving in if he threw out his pb&j for the tuna sandwich, he was simply allowing himself to enjoy the healthier and more satisfying of the two options.

  But that didn’t mean there wouldn’t be words tonight. This ended. Now.

 

***

  “But, I’ve just been trying to help.” Sherlock seemed unphased by John’s outburst upon arriving home, maybe a little confused with a raised eyebrow, but far too calm for John’s liking. He had come in from work, the day continuing slowly after the conversation with Sherry. He had found himself unable to focus on his work, too caught up in the imagined versions of the speech John was preparing for when he finally stepped through his front door.

  “I don’t want your bloody help! I don’t want you in my home and making my food and whatever the hell else you’ve been up to! Just leave!” John knew the vein at his temple was probably pulsing and that he was probably arriving at a very unattractive shade of red, but he didn’t care.

  “You’re anemic, John, that isn’t healt-”

  “I don’t give a damn!” John shouts, cutting him off and if he were actually paying attention he might have noticed the vampires facade break just that tiny bit. 

  “But it isn’t good -”

  “What? Good enough for you to drink yet? Yeah, I get it, I’m a meal and you want it to taste good, well tough! I don’t want you here!” He shouts, oblivious to the way SHerlock is shrinking back on himself and being to look like a small animal cowering in a corner. “You’ve been here for weeks, controlling what I eat and waking me up early to walk to work and getting me those absolutely nasty iron supplements. Well, I’m done.” 

  “You really want me to leave?” The vampire’s voice sounds so small, but John seems to have gone deaf in his anger. 

  “Yes!”

  “Alright, I am terribly sorry for being an inconvenience.” Sherlock dips his head politely before he disappears with a small whoosh and a shadow that fades.

  “Good riddance.” 

***

 

  It took a whopping forty two hours for John to feel the difference. It wasn’t just the absence of his undead and unwelcome house guest, but the little things that had gone unnoticed for the weeks Sherlock had intruded in on his quiet life.

  The bed was no longer tucked in after he got up in the morning and a mug wasn’t already set out for him with the coffee maker warming up. John registered the lack of fluffed pillows on the couch and interesting science article print outs left out on the coffee table for John to find when he finally made it home were now two days old. He missed getting lunch at work and realized that he hadn’t packed anything that morning out of habit. He forgot an umbrella because Sherlock wasn’t there to warn him about the weather report and he found himself out of orange juice that night when he went looking for a glass of something refreshing.

  It was all wrong. The apartment had never felt so empty and large. There was too much dead space and not enough annoying reminders to eat healthier and try this new tea because “it’s suppose to help you naturally retain iron, John”. 

  “You are an absolute loon, Watson, off your rocker for even  _ thinking _ this is a good idea.” With a huff, he shrugs his jacket on and walks to the cafe. Except, rather that going in and greeting Susan, he detours to the alley just beyond it, following the same path as when he had first met the nuisance. 

  “Sherlock, I know you can hear me, come out here right now.” John barely held back the urge to stomp his foot as he crossed his arms over his chest. 

  “John, I didn’t know I should leave the city,” Sherlock appears in the shadows, eyes down cast and fingers tangled in front of himself like he’s unsure of what to do with them, “You will have to allow me a few days to find new living arrangements but I’ll be out as soon as I -”

  “Sherlock, would you shut up? I know you have your supernatural powers, but I’m fairly sure mind reading isn’t one of them.” Sherlock stops, looking up tentatively but looking back to his feet when he sees John’s pensive face.

  “Now that I have you listening, I’m here to tell you I . . . I want you to come back.” The vampire looks up, obviously surprised and that makes John grin. “I have somehow grown fond of having you pester me to Hell and back.” 

  “You appreciate my help?” Sherlock asks tentatively but the childlike hope unmistakable. 

  “Maybe the lack of blood has actually affected my mental health, but yes. I miss you.” John drops his hands but regrets it, suddenly feeling awkward under Sherlock’s keen gaze. 

  “Are you saying that you appreciate my presence, John?” Sherlock keeps their eyes locked, walking forward slowly, pointedly. His smile grew from timid to almost predatory. 

  “Yes, you could say that.” John takes instinctive steps back as Sherlock approaches, only making him grin wider. There’s that feeling again, the tickle in the back of his mind that set off warning bells for danger. But there was something exciting about it. Something that put John on edge in a way that nothing ever had.

  “Would you say I intrigue you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, isn’t that convenient? You intrigue me, too.” By now John has his back to cold brick with Sherlock’s similarly cool chest closing  the distance between them. Sherlock brings his hands up, one to prop himself against the wall next to John’s shoulder and one that slips against John’s hip. He gasps with the chill that accompanies one of Sherlock’s fingers brushing against barely revealed skin. 

  They stand like that for a moment, drinking in the charge of the moment. But the sky can only hold onto the electricity for so long before lightning strikes. 

  Sherlock pushes forward and somehow they meet in the middle, lips rough and a little awkward at first but they don’t stop. Sherlock’s hand is cupping his jaw and gentling the rhythm until it’s smooth lips and the electrifying press of tongues. Sherlock moves away after a few minutes, nuzzling in against John’s jaw and lips sliding down to his neck. His pulse thunders under his skin as Sherlock nips with blunt, human teeth.

  “John, have you been keeping up with your vitamins?” It throws John for a curve, not quite understanding the importance when he really just wants Sherlock’s  _ teeth on his neck already.  _

  “No, I, I forgot.”

  “Tsk, tsk, we’ll have to save this for when you you’re back to healthy.” John wants to whine as Sherlock pulls away but manages to keep himself in check.

  “Can’t forget you’re only in this for the meal.” John bitterly reminds himself more so than Sherlock. He gasps as suddenly he’s pressed back against the wall with two supernaturally strong hands holding him there.

  “This isn’t about  _ food, _ ” Sherlock hisses, noses nearly pressing and John wants to cringe back from the intensity, but he has a feeling that this isn’t anger at himself but Sherlock’s frustration. “You are more than a meal, John. I care about you.”

   And what else is John suppose to do other than kiss the man he cares about?

**Author's Note:**

> It took me sixty thousand years but I finished it, KimKim, I hope you like it


End file.
